Whisky
by citigirl13
Summary: <html><head></head>Elena and Damon bond at the bar - summary better than it sounds, I swear! Disclaimer: I do not own ANYTHING!</html>


**So, just a simple one-shot about Damon and Elena. I don't know how well it is, because I think I kinda went on a bit I think. Anyway, let me know what you think! This one-shot was inspired by the song **_**Whisky**_**, by Jana Kramer – such a great song and I advise people to listen to it at ****.com/watch?v=YrNDVrMhJYI**

**Anyway, I hope you like the one-shot! Enjoy! **

**xXx**

**Whisky **

_Shoulda just called it like I saw it _

_Shoulda just called for help and ran like hell that day_

_The burning sting and the high and the heat_

_And he left me wanting more feeling way he kissed me_

_I shoulda just called him Whisky _

Jana Kramer,_ Whisky_

**xXx **

Tonight Elena Gilbert puts on her tight jeans that cut off her circulation but make her ass look good, and wears a low cut short orange patterned top. She curls her hair too, because right now she doesn't want to be Elena Gilbert; she would rather be Katherine tonight, the one who didn't give a damn about what people thought of her. _Say all you want about Katherine, but you have to give her that. _

She decides to go to the Grill, even though she really does fancy somewhere else if she's going to _be _someone else. But something told her to go to the Grill – besides, she can't be bothered to look for another place.

She sits at the bar and uses her fake ID to get her a shot of whisky. She's lucky; the bar tender here doesn't know her well. Alaric isn't here either, thank God, otherwise he would get very parental despite the fact he isn't going out with Jenna anymore (she appreciates it, she does; it's nice of him to care, but not tonight). So she can drink herself stupid if she wants.

Which she does want. She desperately wants to drink until she forgets her life. She wants to be an ordinary girl, one who isn't being threatened by a psychotic vampire. Don't get her wrong, she loves Stefan, but sometimes she wishes that, for one night, she could just be a regular girl.

She doesn't know how many shots of whisky she's had – she doesn't even really like whisky. But like she said before, she wants to forget, and whisky is a good drink to do that. It seems to work well enough for Damon.

This is out of character for her. At least it is now. Before her parents died she was just like every other teenager: eager to drink before she came of age. She got drunk at least once a month since she was sixteen, if not more. She loved the feeling, like she didn't care about anything; like she was free.

But that was before her parents died, and that had changed her. She could no longer drink without feeling guilty – after all, she had been at a party when her parents had come to pick her up. After that, she'd barely had a drink at all (Atlanta was an exception, one she blames on Damon. She _had _been kidnapped after all).

That had all changed tonight. Tonight, the pressure had finally gotten to her. And now she could feel herself losing control. It had been too long since she'd had a drink – a good, proper drink – and she no longer had any tolerance for it. She could free her mind slowly spinning.

And it felt good.

"Well, well, _well_," a voice says from behind her.

Elena closes her eyes. "Damon," she states calmly. She knew she should have gone somewhere else.

He sits next to her. "What you drinking?"

"Whisky."

Damon nods approving. "I'm impressed. Didn't think you had the guts or the stamina." He nods to the barman. "Can I have your best bottle of scotch and another two shot glasses please?" He turns back to Elena with a twinkle of her eye. "You're drinking the cheap disgusting stuff."

"You said please," Elena says. She doesn't know why she said that.

"When there's alcohol involved I always say please. That and sex."

Once the scotch comes he pours them both a scotch glass and hands it to her. Against her better judgement she takes it. Damon raises his glass. "To victory-"

"No," she says sharply. She doesn't need to talk about Klaus or the battle that will be fought soon. "To whisky."

Damon smirks approvingly, nodding his head once. "To whisky," he echoes, and toasts her. They both down the shots in one.

"Y'know what this reminds me of?" Damon asks.

Elena knows. Of course she knows. She doesn't reply.

"Atlanta," he continues. "That was a good night, remember?"

Elena snorts. "You nearly got killed that night, or did you drink so much that you've forgotten?"

"Details Elena," Damon says with an wave of his hand. "So tell me, why are you drinking tonight?"

She shrugs. "Why not? I may die soon, so why not live while I can?"

"Okay first of all, you are _not _going to die. Second-"

"Right, 'cause you're a saviour aren't you, _Salvatore?_"

Damon stares at her, wondering for a moment what she's talking about. But he shakes it off, continuing: "Second, you call this living? You're sitting in a bar alone attempting to drink your own weight in whisky. Why not go to a club with friends?"

She turns to him. "Okay, first of all," she says, mirroring him, "there are no clubs in Mystic Falls. Haven't you wondered why everyone comes in _here? _Second, you're in here aren't you? Wouldn't you say you're not living either?"

Damon takes another shot. "Technically I'm dead, so any way I act is better than being in the ground. And look at it as a blessing that there aren't any clubs around – the best ones were in the sixties, seventies and eighties – after that they all went way down hill. Can't stand to be around them anymore."

Elena tries to imagine Damon at a club. After the way he moved in the sixties dance, it was clear he was well-practiced. "I thought clubs would be your scene."

"They _were_. Now I'd rather drink in here."

They're quiet for a little while, both of them slowly getting drunker. "Damon," Elena says after a while, "do you want to die?"

Damon can sense a serious conversation. He realises Elena is in a serious mood, and normally he would run away from it as fast as his inhuman speed could take him. But no one else is here but Elena, and she's fast on her way to getting wasted. What's the chance she'd remember it anyway? Would she really remember the first conversation they had where he didn't try and dodge any of her questions?

"Sometimes," he admits. "Less than I used to."

"Couldn't you have killed yourself? Or can't vampires do that?"

"We can," Damon says. "But I never die, simply because I thought something better would come along." He sends Elena a look. "And it has," he says and then quickly ducks his head. Elena too, avoids his gaze.

This is the bad thing about alcohol: your awareness of barriers over certain topics come crashing down. Elena had not drunk enough to remember that, otherwise the night's progress would have changed dramatically.

"Have you gotten over your suicidal tendencies yet?"

"Usually," she comments. She pours herself another glass. "Not tonight."

"What's changed?"

"Nothing," she says. "That's why I'm drinking. I've been pushed over the edge." Once she's started though, she can't stop. "I'm sick of it Damon. How am I supposed to live when my life is being threatened? I _want _to live," she says, feeling suddenly near tears. Damon doesn't know what to say, so he moves a hand and places it on her knee. Fighting them back, Elena says, "Here I am, at a bar drinking. I'm turning into you."

"I would advise against that," Damon replies. He glances at the bottle, which is half empty. _I definitely haven't drunk enough_, he thinks, and pours himself another shot. "My life hasn't been the greatest in the world."

"Neither has mine," Elena rebuttals.

"Better than mine."

"Just because of the whole vampire thing?"

"No – before that." He takes the bottle and finishes it off, to the wide-eyed astonishment of Elena and the barman. If he's going to talk about it, then he needs more alcohol.

He clears his throat. "So before your parents died, you had it great, didn't you? Well, I didn't. Neither of my parents cared about me at all."

"But Stefan says his mother was lovely – at least until she died-"

"Lovely to Stefan," Damon clarifies. "She didn't care about me. Mind you, I suppose she would have if I had been her son."

Elena stares at him in shock. Never once had Stefan mentioned it, and neither had Damon. Then again, Damon had never been Mr Open-And-Share-Our-Feelings, but still... "Another bottle," she says to the barman.

"You'll need it," he mutters, handing it to her.

Fumbling she pours herself another shot and downs. With a breath she turns to Damon. "Continue."

"My mother left when I was a few years old," he says. He's never told anyone this before, and he can't particularly think of a good reason to tell her. But he's a little drunk, and this is Elena, the girl he...loves (sometimes it hurts to admit that, even to himself). Why shouldn't he tell her if, after all, he loves her?

"And that killed my father. In truth, he married Stefan's mother simply because he had to. She went through hell, and so did I. For nearly a year he sent me out the room, he couldn't bear to look at me. I look like her," he explains. "She didn't really like me either – after all, any children she had would be disinherited by me unless I died. She didn't go that far. Needless to say, I learnt to be independent very quickly." He looks at her, his gaze intense. It feels as if he's burning holes in her head. "Why do you think Stefan and I were so close? I wanted _some _family."

And that hurts her, for him. He had Stefan and then Katherine Pierce tore them apart, losing his family.

"So Stefan's your half-brother?"

"Yep."

"Does he know?"

"No," he says, and quickly adds, "and you can't tell him Elena. I don't want him to know."

They are silence again. She can't think – poor Damon. She begins to understand him now: he'd thought Katherine would give him the love he wanted, but she only loved Stefan. He had never gotten the love he needed, not from anyone. Not even from _her_.

So this is why she does what she does next.

She should have just called Stefan and asked him to take her home. Curled up in bed with him and allow him to talk to some belief into her. She should have made a joke and gone to a less serious topic. But she doesn't do any of those things.

Instead she leans forward and lightly kisses him on the lips. It's gentle and soft, nothing passionate, but it's the first time _she's _kissed _him_. And that's significant enough for both of them.

She pulls away, her eyes lowered, breathless. He gazes at her, his blue eyes wide and clearly stunned. He can't say anything – he doesn't know what to say.

So Elena says it for him. "I didn't kiss you because of the whisky." She gets off the stool. "Though I suppose it gave me the courage to kiss you." She walks away, leaving Damon to wonder what she means.

She decided whisky is her favourite drink now.


End file.
